


What Janitors Never Know

by ZaiaFantasy



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 20:57:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14410419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZaiaFantasy/pseuds/ZaiaFantasy
Summary: The janitors of Sunnydale High never do get to know what creates all those messes they get to clean up...but you will.





	What Janitors Never Know

“Buffy, run!” 

Giles urged her ahead of him as a dagger sped by his head and struck a nearby tree. It had come a little too close for his liking, but that was why he was telling her to run. A rare southern California tempest was pouring, the skies having opened up shortly before they were attacked. He was quickly becoming drenched, looking ahead to see Buffy’s shirt clinging to her like a second skin. He could see the white tank top she wore under the mesh blue chemise clearly but did not linger long on that for several reasons, the foremost among them being their frustratingly elusive assailant. 

It was hard to pummel something she could not see and, so far, their attempts to subdue the thing were at a standstill. Whatever this was, it was not going to play fairly. He paused to jerk the knife out of the tree and examined the handle, trying to decipher the markings before his slayer grabbed his arm and reminded him that, yes, it was time to go. In a hurry, no less. She sped along beside him, pushing him through the metal gate that led to the cemetery and up along the street toward Sunnydale High. Strange how it could be a place of refuge AND unadulterated terror. 

Still, most of Giles’ collection of books was there and they’d need them to figure out the latest offering in the ‘who wants the slayer dead’ monthly club. 

Buffy moved into the room, pulling out one of the chairs and throwing herself into it, finding it was not nearly as soft as her bed which was the thing she usually threw herself into. She pulled her sopping overshirt over her head, dropping the sopping heap onto the chair next to her. She tried to wring it from her hair, going into his office and coming out with a tea towel he kept in there for moments when he made tea. She swept it over her body, swiping up the water from her skin before wrapping the cloth around her hair to stop the cold water from dripping down her back. She glanced up at her Watcher who had shed his tweed coat and wiped his hands, but had not bothered to deal with the rain in any other way.

Rain was pelting the tall windows of the library, the pattering a backdrop to Giles already talking to himself, moving into the cage to gather the things they’d need to figure out who was behind the attack. The dagger struck him as being particularly strange as well as the figure’s ability to simply blend into the background around him. More than once he swore he’d just disappeared while he was staring straight at him. Whatever else it was, it was excellent at hiding which did not bode well. Plus, it seemed to have bloody (he rued the pun there) fantastic aim. He pulled books from the shelves, He came out with a stack of them, balancing them so they did not brush against 

“Here,” he deposited some books gingerly on the table. “These are the most likely I can think of to figure out what this demon is.” 

He noticed the wet cloth on the table and then looked down at the Slayer. He seemed to remember that they were wet in a more practical way than just caring for his books. He fumbled, reaching for a handkerchief in the pocket of the jacket he was no longer wearing. He stood helplessly for a moment, his mind struggling to switch gears from demons to practical self care.

“Oh! Here! Mustn’t let you fall ill.” 

He moved to his office and reached into one of the lower desk drawer for the blanket he kept there for nights he opted to stay researching instead of going back to his flat. He gallantly wrapped it around his Slayer. She cuddled into it and felt a little better, turning her eyes to the stack of books still waiting on the table. The blond dutifully picked up the first book and opened it, not looking forward to any of the mind-numbing research ahead. It seemed to her that half of slaying was doing research, a quarter of it was actually fighting and that last bit was, you know, dying for the good of the world. In the grand scheme, maybe sitting in the quiet library for a few hours was not as bad as being sucked into a Hellmouth though, quite possibly, she might change her mind in a few hours. 

“It’s the part about them being able to blend in with their surroundings that stands out most,” Giles commented, frowning. “I feel like I ought to know what this is.” 

“Should we call Willow and Xander?” Misery loved her company and often it came with donuts.

“No, no. They might not be safe with this assasin on the loose.”

“What if it followed us?”

“Then I expect we’ll discover that exactly when it wants us to.”

“That’s reassuring.” 

“Let’s just figure out what we’re dealing with first.”

He absorbed himself in books, something he excelled at. Buffy kept up as best she could but her mind wasn’t on it. The steady drum of the rain was beginning to lull her to sleep, her head drooping a little before she jerked up and pretended like what had just happened wasn’t what had just happened. It had begun to droop again when her Watcher let out a sharp sound, 

The Clan of Shur’roch, of course!”

She snapped up, giving him a bewildered look. “Like, the ‘elementary dear Watson’ guy?”

“Not Sherlock, Shur’roch.” He shook his head, despairing for the American education system. “They’re a very old clan of assassins, not specifically demonic. Humans and demons populate their ranks. They’re indiscriminate about their bounties. Relentless. I fear you’re in grave danger if they’ve turned their sights on you.” 

“So what’s with the vanishing act?” 

“The ancient order has long been heralded for their stealth. I suppose it’s part of their charm, as it were.”

“Charming isn’t the word I’d use.”

He gave her a dry look, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses, words about sarcasm dying on his lips. “The point is that these lot are dangerous, Buffy. They mean to kill you.”

“Who doesn’t?”

He gave a heavy sigh and sat back down, scanning through the information in front of him. The book was old and it took him a minute to translate what he was reading in his own head but at least it confirmed what he already knew. While his impatient Slayer waited he read further down the page. His eyes widened and snapped to the dagger sitting between them on the shiny wooden surface of the table. She followed his eyeline and then looked up at him. 

“That’s not a good look.” 

“The dagger. I thought it looked familiar. These markings,” he indicated the intricate marks up the blade. “The assassins have the same markings etched into the skin of their arms. It creates a bond. They can feel them, that is to say, track them.” 

“You mean -” 

“We’ve led this one right to us.”

“Wait, what?” She stood abruptly, knocking her chair over in her haste.

The lights in the school flickered and then failed, straight out of a Hollywood horror film. Her eyes darted around the room, just as his were. She could see she was in a stance to defend. When nothing came he let out a small sigh, shaking his head. 

“The storm,” he offered weakly by way of reassurance. 

“Or an assassin,” she offered back dryly.

“We can’t just assume -”

A dagger came flying at him and she pushed him out of the way just in time for it to miss. He did, however, slam into the cage with a large grunt. Buffy cringed. 

“Sorry!” 

The demon was invisible, of course, but Buffy was fairly certain it would be coming for its dagger. She scooped it off the table, not paying much attention to where the other had landed. She closed her eyes, letting her conscious mind sink down, the way he taught her. She couldn’t see it, that was fine. She could hear it instead: feel it. 

“Giles, hold still.” Her command was strong, not to be ignored. 

He immediately arrested his movements, taking care to not even breathe loudly. This was something he had worked with her on and it had helped with Marcie, but there was not often cause for her to try to sense the invisible. The blond stock still, the dagger in one hand. He jumped when she suddenly moved, throwing the knife toward the doors of the library. They heard an inhuman growl and the doors opened, swinging wildly as they closed. 

“You hit it.”

“It’s not dead.”

She rushed forward leaving her Watcher to chase after her. They both moved through the doors into the open hallway. There were splatters of green blood on the ground. No evidence of the demon was in front of them. Buffy wasn’t anticipating an attack. Instead, she pointed up the hall. 

“It’s heading toward the cafeteria.”

They followed the trail of blood, feeling a bit sorry for the janitor that constantly walked in on messes like this and had to wonder what the hell had happened to cause them. He never got any explanations, but then, Sunnydale High seemed to go through a lot of janitors. It wasn’t surprising considering how many people actually died in Sunnydale, despite her best efforts. But at least this guy was solely focused on the Slayer.

The trail went cold at the door to the cafeteria. She pushed it open and peeked her head in. 

“He’s in here. I don’t want you coming in.” 

“I should be there to help you.”

“No. I won’t let him hurt you.”

Buffy moved through the door leaving him alone in the hallway. 

“I know you’re in here!” 

A growl answered from across the room. Cautiously, she moved forward along the counter where they picked up their drinks and trays, keeping her eyes and ears open for any hint of danger. She felt the air shudder, a mere flicker of the air current and lashed out with one hand striking whatever was in front of her. She hit something solid, to a growl, but by the anatomy she knew that whatever it was was a lot taller than she had thought, mostly because she hadn’t seen it. It lashed back, glancing against her shoulder before burying its fist and dagger into the machine behind her. Great globs of strawberry flavored goo poured from the hole. She watched in horror as it plopped over onto the metal counter and then down onto her shoes. The yogurt machine continued to belch formerly creamy goodness, splattering on both the slayer and her assasin. She looked down and then back up again.

“Oh, come on! Is nothing in my closet sacred to you people? These were my favorite shoes!”

Nevermind her shoulder, which throbbed a little from the hit. 

She lashed out again, having something to go by now that it’s legs were covered in pinkish goo. The daggers came out again, lashing at her, slashing her side. She cried out, deflecting the follow up strike and turning to bury the blade into the demon. It let out a loud roar, toppling over backward like a sack of potatoes large enough to feed Idaho. To her surprise, it blinked visible, a gnarled demon with wiry tufts of brown fur along its body. Then it dissolved into a puddle of the same green blood it had been leaking, flooding out in a wave all around where the body had fallen, including over her shoes. 

She looked down, all thoughts of trying to save them gone with a long quivering sigh. Giles poked his head in.

“Is it dead?”

“Yep.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Yep.”

He hurried inside, wrinkling his nose distastefully at the mess she was standing in the middle of. His eyes moved up to the broken lunch machine, shaking his head. Snyder would have a field day with this. His job was to make sure suspicion never fell to his Slayer. 

“Come on,” He tucked his arm around her shoulders, leading her gently away from the mess. “Let’s get you patched up, shall we?”

The next morning the cafeteria was barred off, Snyder heading off curious students wanting to know what the hell happened.

“Vandals,” he confirmed. “Hooligan children broke into the school last night and trashed the cafeteria. Pranks like this will not stand. As soon as I find out who it was, they will be in a world of trouble, mark my words.”

No one did mark his words. In fact, a culprit was never officially accused. The janitor only shook his head and reached for his mop and bucket with a heavy sigh.


End file.
